"All right,” said Peggy, “if we possibly can."
FIFTEEN
The squad car carrying Dean, Dyer, and Peggy Carson raced from Hamel's wooded lot for the highway, sending up a dust cloud behind them. Dyer, once on the pavement, flicked on the siren. The car careened onto a second street, wound to another, and was suddenly on the interstate for the quickest route back to the city. In the distance, Dean thought he saw the shimmering windows of a new downtown building, but on nearing this, it turned out to be another large hotel on the strip just outside Disney World. Downtown buildings were so low to the ground, it was hard to tell precisely how far away they might be. All Dean knew was that there simply was no skyline, as in Chicago.
The drive back was like a scene from a western, Dean thought, seeing Peggy check each of her weapons and then the shotgun braced beneath the dash. Dean had taken a back seat, knowing it was time he stepped back to allow the police the next move. Dyer, too, checked his .38 with his free hand. The clip flipped onto his lap. Peggy took it from him and closed the clip, returning the weapon to him. Maybe they were right, a quick and efficient end to a madman might very well be preferred by everyone—not least of all, the survivors of the crimes. Dean recalled how he'd felt on seeing the first scalping victim, and believing he'd seen the worst, on then being treated to the horror of the pregnant woman robbed of her unborn child, and finally what lay atop the bubbling water in the dwarf's room.
"I want that fucking dwarf,” said Peggy.
"I want Hamel,” replied Dyer.
"Remember, these are sick men,” said Dean uselessly. In fact, his saying so probably told the cops that if the killers were taken alive, they'd likely be imprisoned in a mental facility, and to a cop's way of thinking, that was no justice at all.
"Just stay clear when the shooting starts, Dean,” Peggy told him.
Dean felt his own .38 at his breast, but said nothing.
The city lights came into view, and soon they were exiting the interstate for a road lined with fast-food joints and car dealerships, the siren blaring, the lights flashing, people staring after them.
In five minutes they were within sight of Mercy, and Dyer cut the lights and siren, slowing and cruising. Another unit passed them. An APB had been put out on Hamel and his car. Dyer waved down another unit and rolled down his window to ask if anything was known. The lights at Mercy showed the hospital sign in disrepair, some people lighting up cigarettes beneath. Peggy stared down an alleyway on their left, trying to part the sea of darkness with her stare. Dean saw only the dimly lit face of the officer in the unit as its window came down slowly in response to Dyer's waving hand. Then Dean saw the hat brim of the other officer and the lapel of a neat sport coat and half-wondered about it when suddenly an explosion in front of his eyes made them close and his mind reel as parts of Dyer's skull showered him where he sat. All in an instant the horn was blowing, the car heading for a flight of stone steps, Peggy screaming and fighting with both the wheel and Dyer's bloody form. Dean saw the other squad car racing off at top speed.
The car jolted to a stop that sent Dean forward into the seat bloodied by Dyer's blown-away face. Peggy screamed again, crying, an angry edge to her tears as she shouted, “Bastard! The bastard."
It had been a miracle Peggy hadn't been killed along with Dyer. Dean reached way over the body and snatched open the car door, allowing Dyer's body to spill out. Peggy had managed to slip the gearshift into Park, but the horn blared on, stuck.
It had all happened so fast. “I thought it all a mistake that,” said Peggy, making no sense. “Knew it ... felt it..."
"Easy, Peggy,” Dean called over to her from where he was, on his knees over Dyer, whose heart was still pumping.
"Dyer's dead now,” said Peggy. “Damn ... damn!"
Another squad car rushed in, the siren whirling down, and it made both Dean and Peggy jump, thinking it was Hamel returned to finish what he'd started. But Peggy recognized the two men who dropped to their knees behind the doors and shouted, “Drop it! Carson? That you?"
Dean and Peggy breathed in relief, Dean shouting, “We need to get this man to emergency! It's Frank Dyer!"
"Jesus!” moaned one of the other officers, seeing what little remained of the side of Dyer's face.
"Too late,” said Dean quietly.
"What? What?” asked Peggy coming around.
"Frank's ... he's dead, Peggy."
She buckled, caught at the last moment by one of the other policemen.
"What the hell happened? What happened?” shouted the other cop hysterically.
"Police, we thought it was,” said Dean, “he's somehow gotten hold of a squad car."
"You get the number?"
"No ... it happened so fast."
"Let's get Carson over to the hospital. She's got a nasty gash over her eye."
Dean realized for the first time how badly hurt Peggy was. She must have slammed into the dash when he hit the seat ahead of him.
Dean's mind raced ahead of Hamel. Where would he go now? Dean tried desperately to think like him, to second-guess him, but in doing so, he must more likely second-guess Hamel's deformed brother, the twin that had supposedly died so many years ago.
"You're bleeding, too, Dr. Grant,” said one of the policemen. A crowd had gathered round to watch now, some pointing at Dyer.
"Cover him up, will you?” said Dean, taking off his coat for the purpose. “Dean lifted Dyer's .38, got to his feet in a daze, and put the gun into his belt. He then put out his hands for Peggy. “I'll take her across to the hospital."
But medical personnel from the E.R. had rushed to them now, and they took charge, forcing Dean, too, onto a stretcher.
"I'm all right, damn it,” complained Dean, knowing his heart was racing, knowing he could black out any moment, trying to remember something vital, something he must pass along to ... to whom? Dean felt the welcome of a shutdown of all his senses come over him and it was too inviting to say no to. He was faint one minute, and then everything went black.
Dr. Benjamin Ian Hamel and his brother moved steadily down Interstate 4, Van wanting to go home, saying it was necessary, that there were important momentos they must pack if they must leave as Ian said they must.
"Damn it, there'll be more cops there!"
"How? How did they know, Ian?"
"It's that bastard Grant. He put it together somehow.'
"I thought all was safe after Park was killed. You said—"
"I know what I said, damn it, but ... but Grant just wouldn't let it go."
"He'll follow us ... like Park before him."
"Maybe..."
"He will,” said Ian emphatically. “He will ... unless we can stop him somehow, tonight."
The police band was running and the chatter became of interest to Ian, who shushed Van. "Listen."
"Repeating, officer down, location Mercy Hospital, another officer hurt."
"Grant was in the back seat of that car,” said Ian.
"Are you sure?"
"I saw him."
"Then he's back there at the hospital. We could sneak back, and if we could get—"
"No, no, they're all looking for me. I'd be spotted in a moment, arrested ... and then..."
"What then?"
"We go home, like you said. If Grant's at Mercy, I've got a fair idea where Sid Corman is, and if we have Corman, Grant is sure to follow."
"Ian, what about the baby, the new baby?"
"It will have to wait! The whole city's looking for us."
"I hate this Grant ... I hate him."
"You'll get your chance at him."
"Goody."
"We've got to take his friend alive, Van."